


Forest

by LadyHeliotrope



Series: Love and Other "Snail Mail" Stories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Blind Character, Diabetes, Disability, F/M, Good Severus Snape, Herbology, Hypoglycemia, Mentor Severus Snape, Physical Disability, Picnic, Potions, Secret Crush, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, Severus Snape-centric, eating wild mushrooms, foraging, making academic plans without input from student, vision limitations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHeliotrope/pseuds/LadyHeliotrope
Summary: Hermione and Severus collect wild mushroom for potions-making, and have an important business conversation. Their discussion happens to be relevant to other matters of importance as well.Reposted into series form rather than chapter form. <3
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: Love and Other "Snail Mail" Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803445
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56
Collections: Hearts & Cauldrons Snail Mail Exchange, Severus Snape with Disability and/or Chronic Illness Fics





	Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackcoffee13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffee13/gifts).



Content Notes: hypoglycemia, diabetes, vision limitations, foraging and eating wild mushrooms, making academic plans without input from student 

  
  
  


“Forest”  
for BlackCoffee 

She liked spending time with him in the quiet of the forest. Spreading out a wool blanket upon the moss, he would deposit their tools and dinner hamper there while she pulled out a couple camp chairs from her never-ending purse. Knowing eventually his ankles would tire - his exposure to Nagini’s venom permanently weakened his muscles, as well as rendering him almost completely blind - she would roll over a branch or stone and transfigure it into something more usable. 

He’d ask what she was doing, and she would tell him, and then he would protest, halfheartedly. He would give up when she would murmur sweetly, “it’s just in case you would like it, sir.” It was a tactic she’d learned from him, of course. He’d chuckle at her blatant attempt at subterfuge but give her a rare smile that made her feel like a thousand galleons. It was a sight she’d never seen before becoming his apprentice. 

Then they would do their mushroom hunt. With the dim glow of a veiled _lumos_ in her hand, he held her arm to keep steady, and he led the way while she made sure to keep them from tripping over roots as they walked through the brush. Thus they made their way, until his hound-like senses made him pull up short.

“There,” he would say, pointing at a particular shadow or copse, and she would see he was nearly always right. She never would have seen it without him, despite the fact all he could make out was fuzzy shapes and some colors. 

Then she would guide him over to the mushroom patch, and help him find a good place to sit. They would pick mushrooms, and he was always somehow faster than her despite his disability. She marveled at the way his hands deftly reached out and plucked, bold and capable - and elegant.

“Don’t just stare,” he might accuse her when she got caught up watching his technique. “Keep a mind to your own work.” 

And she would, feeling as chagrined as if he knew what kinds of dreams she had at night when she was safely tucked in his guest room at Spinner’s End. Her cheeks reddened and she would give a quiet murmur of understanding before continuing her efforts.

She knew he wasn’t interested. After all, Harry told her everything. Snape had been in love for decades with his mum. It was unlikely he would ever cast her a wayward glance, such as it were. 

Eventually they would finish, and Hermione would guide them back to their picnic to deposit their finds into wax-paper bags. They might make another round or two before Snape’s energy would begin to flag, and then she would prop him up with as many pillows as she had until she finished excavating the remaining fungi. Then she would take him back to the comfortable chair and footstool and give him some raspberry squash to perk him up. His blood sugar could suddenly sink to concerning levels if she didn’t. Nagini’s toxins had badly damaged his internal organs, too, and now he was diabetic. 

But he would be in good spirits once she plied him with a sugary drink, and he would eat a half a sandwich and drink a good deal of water. Then he would sometimes enjoy a single cannabis pipe for the pain, slowly and casually allowing the pleasant aroma of smoke to fade away into the afternoon breeze. 

……………. 

“I never thought life could be like this,” he mused one day in early May. It was odd, this kind of vulnerable and personal statement, and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of test or lesson. 

“Like what?” she asked after a thoughtful pause. 

“Like this,” he offered, with a sigh. He gestured up and down his body. “Not being able to see. Being dependent on another person for guidance. I thought it was a curse. I’m wondering now if it has opened my eyes to things I don’t think I could have seen otherwise.” 

He sniffed daintily at the mushroom in his hand and licked it. “Tastes like rubber and bacon scraps,” he mused, then spit out the flavor on the ground. “That must be oxhood.” 

Clearly he had gone quite mad. Hermione stood up and brushed herself off. “Come, I’m taking you to Healer Holden.” 

“No,” he waved her away, “No fungi in this genus will harm you unless you ingest it. I read about this.” 

“You might have done,” Hermione insisted, “but your judgment is clearly impaired.” The implication was heavy in her voice: _we don’t need another hospital visit._

His voice became tighter. “My sugars are fine. ” Snape tapped his medical port and it projected the reading upon the nearest tree in a beam of golden light. It was within normal limits; accepting he was just barmy in the usual way, Hermione sat down again. 

“I think,” Snape went on, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, “we had best start thinking about what you plan to do at the end of your apprenticeship in June, Miss Granger. ” 

This pronouncement hit her like a sack of bricks.

“I thought we had another year to go,” she said, trying not to let her breath catch. 

She was unsuccessful; he frowned, clearly noticing her shock.

“You are nervous,” he observed, and seemed displeased. “I thought you would be ecstatic to be rid of this old codger.” 

“That’s a rather uncharitable assumption,” Hermione tried to say without anger. But it didn’t work. Her tone was clipped and biting. 

Snape seemed surprised. “Surely you don’t imagine there is another year’s worth of material for me to teach you, Miss Granger. I told you that your work has been satisfactory.”

She breathed in deeply, astonished to realize what he’d meant last week as he hummingly had reviewed one of her potions. Sometimes she still was surprised by how much meaning he imbued in such simple words. 

“You have accomplished all that is required, and then some,” he went on, breathing out smoke through flared nostrils like a dragon. “This is your second mastership, anyhow.” 

There were many possible meanings to this, but the one Hermione heard most clearly was: _Silly girl. You are dismissed_. 

“Well, thank you, sir.” She didn’t bother with a real smile, but he wouldn’t know that based on the warmth of her voice. “It’s been an honor and a privilege.” 

This last bit was just a _touch_ too sarcastic for her own good. Snape seemed troubled by her attitude. 

“Isn’t that what you want?” he mused, turning over his pipe and knocking the ashes onto the ground. “In August, you had so many ambitions. So many plans.” 

“And you told me that you didn’t care one whit about them,” Hermione reviewed, with bitterness in her voice but also a grudging respect, “because you were going to make me into a brilliant potions mistress, sod everything else.” 

“I said _you would be_ a brilliant potions mistress,” Snape murmured lowly, “not that I’d _make_ you so.” 

“Whatever,” Hermione groused, and in her current nervous habit she pulled her hair out of its thick braid and began to re-plait it. “You told me to focus on the work, and the rest would come in its own good time. Well, I took your words to heart and I put it all aside.” 

He seemed unimpressed, so she elaborated, “By which I mean: I didn’t apply for any fellowships, grants, or jobs for this summer, based on what you told me. Much less for next year. Now I don’t even have an opportunity to apply for anything that would start in the fall. The application cycle won’t start again until this coming December. You surely must understand, I simply _don’t_ know what to _do_ with an extra year.” 

“Hm. Same problem I have,” Snape snarled, his lips pinching with irritation. “Except it’s rather more than a single year. Thanks a lot for that, Granger.” 

This was the first time he’d called her just her last name, and this combined with the accusation, it stung. 

“It’s not _my_ fault you survived,” Hermione grumbled, kicking a pebble with her foot. “Blame Nagini for her rubbish job.” 

“I do,” Snape responded, pinching the bridge of his nose now. “But don’t take away my right to resent your coming back for me.” 

There. This was the issue all along, Hermione realized. He just wanted to get _rid_ of her. 

“If that’s the case,” Hermione said, standing up and crossing her arms. “Then why did you even accept me as an apprentice. You weren’t under any obligation to do that.” 

Snape snorted. “It would have been unjust to say ‘no’ to teaching Hermione Granger. If anyone had earned the right to study for a mastership in any subject she chose, it would be her.” She mulled over this _exceedingly_ high praise as he went on, “Besides, anyone else’s training would have been, frankly speaking, a waste of your time.” 

This last was said with a combination of humor and narcissism, and altogether it made her head spin. 

“So you respect me,” Hermione pointed out, wrinkling her nose, “but also resent me.” 

“Correct.” 

He pocketed his pipe and looked entirely too stoic. Something else was happening here, and she had no idea what it was - but it set her heart beating faster nonetheless. 

“Did you plan for this?” she asked, feeling her throat tightening. _The whole time?_

“Somewhat,” he admitted, gazing into the distance and steadily not looking at her. “But come December, it became obvious I had a need to somewhat… accelerate your training.” 

_‘I had a need.’_ Hermione wondered what in Merlin’s name _that_ meant. 

“What happened in December?” she asked, her stare becoming penetrating. 

He shrugged. “It became obvious. That’s all.” 

What had also become obvious, to Hermione, is that he was hiding something else, unsaid. 

She turned her mind back to December. It had been a blur of work, helping Snape prep for the Christmas hols and all the potions-related orders and commissions they had to prepare for his apothecary… Hermione remembered being extremely tired, wondering how Snape could wake himself up in the middle of his sleep to go stir something or another and then drop right back on his sofa to snooze for another few hours. 

And then! Of a sudden! She realized what he was remembering. 

“Is… is it because I turned you down for dinner on Christmas eve?” 

Despite the fact that his eyes were not as perceptive as they once were, she saw how glassy and sharp they looked in the spring afternoon sunshine. 

He gave a small, pointed jerk of his chin that confirmed her suspicion. 

Her mind floated back to that evening in December. He’d asked her casually, while they were poring over a cauldron near the end of the night, as they stoppered up a final set of drinking draughts to cure for a New Year’s event host. (Snape was never one to let grass grow under him, of course). 

Given she’d been fatigued and felt like absolute shite, she’d told him she’d give him a rain check. She’d been obviously in dire need of rest, with dark circles above her cheekbones and her hair a sad, rumpled mess. 

Ever since, she hadn’t given her refusal another thought. But then again, if Snape hadn’t been able to see the ragged way she looked… she realized he must have thought it was a rebuff. Simple as that.

“I… I was exhausted!” she blurted, then stopped herself. “Wait - have you _truly_ been hanging onto that ever since?” 

“You never returned the… how did you say it… _‘rain check_.’” The plain, neutral tone of his voice was deceptive. She saw how pained he obviously felt, and her mind began to spin even faster than before. 

“You could have asked me again.” The words fell flat, and he looked coldly down his nose at her. She thought he might be about to enter into a particularly sulky phase, when he suddenly pronounced, “I _did_. For New Year’s.” 

And she recollected with some degree of horror that he had, in fact, done this. She remembered knowing that Ginny and Harry wanted her to join them for the holiday, and the intimate event was organized rather in a rush. Hermione recalled a memory of telling her master to kindly wait, that she’d get back to him on what her plans would look like. And she’d fully intended to do so.

But instead the day came, and Ginny asked her to come over early to help with the wee ones, and… well, the evening was so wholesome and comforting and loving, Hermione’s heart was full. She’d returned the next day flushed and happy, riding off the energy from the holiday and resolved to rededicate herself to her studies (not that she’d been lax in this regard, of course). 

  
  


“Oh.” Her cheeks began to color, and in humiliation she realized that perhaps she’d made a grave, terrible miscalculation. Her mind flooded with the image of Snape that New Year’s day, looking prim and proper and not jovial at all. He was just grinding beetroot into paste for feeding a nest of gurgolbees they’d discovered in the greenhouse…

...and truth be told, he’d been rather gnashy at the task. Not to mention silent. But she’d just assumed, if anything, it was a response to the holidays _en generale_. 

“I… you didn’t say anything,” she said, feeling small and apologetic, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t precisely stood him up, but she wasn’t sure what else to call it. 

Snape’s fierce silence spoke louder than anything he could have said. _‘A snake does not beg,’_ she recalled him saying proverbially several times during the course of their collegial relationship. Already, a second ask was pushing the envelope for him, she knew. 

“I… I’m so sorry.” Hermione felt herself wanting to dive under the earth quicker than he could say ‘balderdash’ but somehow her courage did not abandon her. 

Thank goodness for that. His lip gave a small quirk of annoyance, but he waved her concern away in a brisk gesture. “It’s nothing.” 

No matter how breezily he said it, she knew this was a lie. She’d gotten to know Post-War Snape well enough in the span of these nine months to see that. 

“I don’t agree.” She stood up and moved a tiny bit closer to him, and he winced in what appeared to be pain. “It was definitely important to you. And I didn’t honor it as such.” 

“Truly,” Snape insisted, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. His soft, slightly graying hair covered his face in an expression incongruous with his forty-odd years. “It’s of no importance. Let’s not belabor the point.” 

“I _will_ belabor the point,” Hermione responded, and frowned markedly at him. “As you like to say, Gryffindors are bloody _brilliant_ at whinging.” 

He rolled his eyes, but avoided her gaze. “It really is of no consequence,” he said, and rolled his shoulders back in a gesture of trying to shake off unpleasant feelings. “Please, Granger, don’t force it.” 

“I wouldn’t force it,” Hermione uttered, feeling her heart practically thumping out of her throat, “except that I believe you have misread the situation entirely.” 

This earned his pinched expression, and he groaned lowly. “I am well acquainted with rejection,” he stated, “and I do not need your pity.” 

“Pity?” The word was so unbelievable in this context that Hermione didn’t have a chance to filter it properly. Despite the shakiness of her breaths, she elaborated, “I couldn’t pity you, sir. Rather... ”

He didn’t give her any assistance whatsoever; instead he stared coldly at her foot. 

“...rather the opposite, actual- _LY_.” She didn’t mean to squeak. She absolutely didn’t mean to squeak. But the moment her voice got stuck at the top back of her mouth, the squeak emerged, and her dignity was stolen by hellhounds who dragged it behind them as they returned home from the surface of the earth.

“Hm.” He didn’t say anything else for a moment, instead contemplating her words behind half-lidded eyes. 

The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and Hermione was about to pass out from exhaustion and anticipation when he finally added, “Perhaps there is hope in this world for stodgy old men.” 

She almost screamed. Was his meaning...what she thought? 

“I… I hope I haven’t made a terribly awkward assumption,” Hermione blustered, feeling her skin flush all the way to her toes. “If I have, please correct it.” 

“And _what_ , pray, is your terribly awkward assumption?” True to the teacher in him, he wasn’t letting her down easy. No indeed. 

She couldn’t bring herself to finish her thought, not until Snape’s stony silence forced her. “Is it… perhaps… that you fancy…

(Hermione breathed in deeply, noticing all the swirling sensations of dark greens and browns of forest, the scent of soil and decaying leaves, the powerful warmth he exuded in his long grey country robes…)

And then, like a waterfall tumbling to life after a thousand years of drought, she exhaled: “...Me?” 

(For all her effort, this word was fairly squeaky too, to her utter chagrin).

Snape’s posture seemed to soften, and he was visibly more relaxed. “I wouldn’t say it… _quite_ like that,” he responded, an eyebrow raised in some mild amusement. “But...perhaps...there’s something to that...awkward assumption.” There was a spot of color on his face too, and all of a sudden he looked closer to being ill than to offering a confession of romantic interest. 

“At least, it bears further examination,” he added, apparently quite sick to his stomach. She recognized this to be a symptom of his hypoglycemia, and pressed the barely-sipped raspberry squash into his hand. 

“Drink it all,” she instructed. He grimaced and obeyed with closed eyes. After a few moments, he was nodding and looking less wan. 

“You’re more paranoid than a ruddy healer,” Snape snarled, but there was gratitude in the way he stared in her direction. 

“So,” Hermione said, feeling her confidence boost at his acknowledgement, her heart flooding with warmth and sudden unmitigated tenderness that she’d been keeping tamped down for a long time. “You fancy me?” 

He shrugged, steadily not looking in her direction. “As I said. It’s a hypothesis that merits further study.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll take your ‘hypothesis’ over other men’s facts any day.” 

“And so you see, Granger,” Snape said with almost what sounded to be a chuckle, “you lack the scientific objectivity necessary to be a truly great potions mistress.” 

“...What?!” Hermione said, and kicked over their mushroom basket dramatically. Since all the fungi was in bags, their work wasn’t spoiled, but Snape was sufficiently impressed at the demonstration. “I was all set to study for my boards and become Europe’s youngest dual-certified mistress.” 

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t pass your boards,” Snape drawled, looking altogether too sly and comfortable to remain unkissed for long, “I just believe you would benefit from further enhancement of your training post attaining your mastership. I’d be willing to extend the favor to you, if you would so desire.” 

“The favor of _what_ , Snape?” She grinned at the insolence of using his last name, unburdened by title. He seemed equally chuffed, if the glint in his eye was anything to go by. 

“Why, employment, of course,” he answered, and it sounded innocent enough until she caught the hint of humor in his quirked lips. 

“Junior partnership,” she negotiated, and in response he gestured for her to approach. 

“Mixing business and pleasure is a rather dubious venture,” he pronounced as she kneeled down next to his eye level. He went on in a whisper, “But how can I help...but want it _all_?” 

“Is that a ‘yes’ to junior partnership?” She didn’t mean to sound so giddy, but her heart was liable to leap out of her chest at any moment. 

“It’s a yes to...practically anything you might want.” At her obvious surprise, he smirked a little sadly. “I suppose you should know by now, I don’t do things by half measures.” Then, as she remained in dumbfounded silence, he went on, “But, there is no pressure. In the event that this kind of arrangement is not suitable to-” 

“-Damn it _all_ , man.” With that, she pressed her lips against his, and she nearly faded into starlight at the hungry, whole-hearted way his body responded. After a few painful moments that threatened to destroy her credulousness of reality, she withdrew and stared at his face, touching her nose to his. “It’s _extremely_ suitable.” 

She’d never seen him so embarrassed, and despite the fact he could scarcely see the intensity of her expression, he cast his chin downwards. 

“I had hoped…” he said, his breaths shallow and tight, “...that this would be the solution to this puzzle. But I rather imagine this is only the beginning of a much larger labyrinth into which you are leading me, Granger.” 

“Hermione.” Bending over to pick up the spilled packages of mushrooms, she didn’t feel like waiting another _second_ for them to get to first-name basis. 

He seemed to agree, based on the deep sigh he gave. “ _Hermione_.” She couldn’t help but notice a touch of wetness at his eyes. 

Relief flooded her as well. For all her posturing and reluctance to admit her feelings, she knew her heart was truly sunk. And the idea that the terrible, wonderful, _brilliant_ Severus Snape might have a tear in his eye, for her? That set her heart aflame like nothing else ever had in the whole wide world. 

To that end, she kissed him again and poured them both some more raspberry squash. Then they sat in appreciative repose, and toasted their good fortune to the sleepy song of the sunset, quietly dreaming of future possibilities and plans. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
